They pass their days on an old research farm now set behind a tall barbed-wire fence, a place of flimsy wooden buildings, weed-filled roads and laundry strung from the volleyball net. Or they wander through the dusty two-street town, where there's little to do but sit on benches in front of ramshackle general stores. Some walk with limps that tell of battlefield injuries, of years spent fighting in the mountains. Many still wear jungle camouflage.
powered by mochila
.